ArchivedLogs:Flavor

Flavor
Dramatis Personae Anette, Ion, Nate	2016-01-14 "I've got some alright in my life now."
Location <NYC> Down Under - Morningside Heights
Gritty, grimy, with food of questionable origin and unquestionable greasiness, Down Under is nevertheless a place to drink. That is about all that can be said for it -- that and it is a place to drink if you are short on cash. As such, it is frequently frequented by college students and those looking simply to get Very Drunk. For those none too concerned about the quality of their booze, this is the place to go. "Hey-hey-hey --" There's a rapid drum of hands against the bar, a brightbright flash of smile towards the bartender -- Ion isn't /quite/ in his seat, hasn't /quite/ managed to actually take his seat for a while, perched kind of jittery on the edge of a barstool smack in the middle of the dingy-grimy well-scratched counter. He beckons to the bartender, gesturing between him and his companion, "{-- another round for me and my friend, huh? We only getting /started/.}" The 'tender, clearly, is well used to getting his orders in Spanish; /this/ doesn't faze him one bit. The faint skitter of sparks that dance from Ion's fingertips as he drums his hands against the bar -- that does draw his eyes for a moment longer. But it doesn't stop him from clearing the glasses away and going to get another round. Ion settles back into his stool -- for at least half a second before sliding back to his feet to bounce on the toes of his boots. The young man is dressed mooostly plainly, jeans, black and white plaid flannel, though the leather kutte he wears over top is well decorated (the lightning bolts studded at its shoulders glitter like diamonds; it has a pair of bleached handprints worn into its front flaps, it looks like it's been chewed up and cut up and sewn back together too many times to count. Its patch reads MUTANT MONGRELS MC in huge text around a Jolly Roger logo, the skull fanged and horned, the crossbones a pair of crossed lightning bolts instead.) and the watch on his wrist is an /ostentatiously/ gaudy monstrosity of alligator-skin strap and diamond-bezeled /bling/. A motorcycle helmet sits on the seat of the stool that Ion is not-quite-managing to actually sit on. In English again, though English with a veeery heavy Argentine accent flavoring his bass voice: "-- /plus/," he sounds VERY EXCITED as he tells Anette this, "I win /seven/ whole /dollar/ in the fucking, powerball. Next time, I swear it gonna be mine. Then you'll see. I rebuild this whole-goddamn-city." Nate strolls in, wearing his preppy clothes which he is making an assumption as maybe being overdressed as he looks around. He does a quick looks over the place before he walks over towards an empty seat conveniently near Anette and Ion. His eyes look over the bar before he raises his hand and says, "Grey Goose Vodka with a sugar free Red Bull." "Have you ever heard of ritalin?" Anette teases as she watches Ion and his not very well-contained energy. Still, she seems to be enjoying herself, even if she's a bit more calmly positioned on her barstool. She's not fluent in Spanish but she's picked up enough to know when he's ordering more booze and grins, leaning forward against the bar as she waits for her drink. Dressed a bit more casually, she wears jeans and a t-shirt, though it's one of her nicer pair of jeans and the t-shirt is very form fitting and a deeper neckline than usual. This coupled with heeled leather boots, leather coat that hides her wings from sight, and gloves doing the same for her talons. The only hint to her own mutant status would be the piercing yellow eyes. Ion's announcement of his winnings sparks a grin and a lift of her nearly arrived drink in toast. "Better than me. Spent $10 and got nothing. Just have to earn our cash the usual way then." "Ritalin? What I'd do with that, what I want to slow /down/ for? Too much /world/ out there to --" Ion stops his rapid drumming on the barstool, cocking his head to the side as Nate takes the seat nearby. His chin jerks up, bright grin undimmed: "Whazzat? They make that /sugar-free/? How that even /work/, do that still have energy? I thought half the point is you getting some energybomb. Sugarbomb. All the bomb." One elbow leans on the top of the bar, head propping against a curled fist. At least for a few seconds. It's almost like settling down. "Yeah-yeah-yeah. I spend six dollar on the ticket so it still a profit, I feel damn lucky. Still, maybe time to branch out. Take up something, something better. I thinking maybe, maybe, maybe like." He snaps his fingers. "I started watching Leverage, those guys, maybe onto something." Nate slowly shifts in his seat and raises an eyebrow before he says with a slight grin, "Indeed they do darling." Nate grabs his drink and drops a ten dollar bill down before he looks again back towards Ion and takes a sip, downing half of the drink. He rests it down before he then looks down towards his stomach before he says, "Helps keep me ripped and in shape." The arrival of Nate gets a brief glance as he makes his present known, though that brief glance becomes anything but brief and almost appreciative. Not bad. Almost enough to not notice Ion's ramblings. "Yep, you need more drink you. Nothing sugary though," Anette says before knocking back her own drink. "Hey, the only way to win is to play, right? Some poor, bored housewife somewhere just got really lucky. But yeah, next time, definitely us. Just have to find a /really/ good psionic mutant first." "/Someone/ out there gotta be able to rig up luck, right?" It's hard to read much into the flick of Ion's glance over Nate. A brief upward tick of eyebrows, a brief flick of eyes up-down over the other man once before he snags his own drink with an appreciative nod to the bartender. "In the meantime though --" He lifts his own glass in salute -- to Anette, perhaps, to the /world/ at large. "I'm pretty sure surviving the fucking apocalypse /twice/, that counts as beating enough odds, huh? We winning already." "There is pretty much always an apocalypse coming towards us in one way or another. Just varies in the scale or style of it. Hence the beauty of vodka and mixers." Nate laughs a few moments before he takes another sip from his drink, "Don't trust a cosmo from here. Hard to mess up vodka and red bull." Nate hums a bit before he looks over towards Anette and grins, "You're pretty as hell." "Amongst other things," Anette adds on to Ion's comment about surviving apocalypses, leaving it at that. Nate's comment on avoid cosmo's gets a small laugh. "That's why I usually drink rum and coke. Can't screw it up and everyone has it." His last sentence gets a raised brow as she takes another gulp from her own drink. "Well, you get right to the point, don't you?" "Shit, yo, there's apocalypse and then there's fucking zombies swarming the whole damn place. Still," Ion tips his own vodka tonic towards Nate with a nod, "/everybody/ world ending some time, /that/ for damn sure." Nate's comment to Anette just puts a wide grin on his face. "He sure ain't wrong." His brows lift, though, and then he's back to bouncing on his toes. "All the clubs in all the city," he says with a laugh, "we just gonna /find/ you?" He sounds amused -- cheerfully, though. "Right, right, right, ese. No doubt. /See/ you." "Eh, stranger things have happened," Anette says in regards to running into Nate again as she watches him leave. She turns back Ion with a grin as he continues the complimenting. "Now, why haven't you ever said that before?" she teases, finishing off her drink. "Might've left Daken sooner if I'd known." "Oh, like I'm even /trynna/ step up in another Brother's business do I look like I'd be about that life?" Ion's tongue clicks against his teeth as he finishes off his drink, tugs his wallet out of his back pocket. He's back to jittery again. Bounce-BOUNCE, bounce-BOUNCE while he grabs the bartender's attention -- it's probably some combination of his WIRED energy or the fact he's been tipping really-damn-well that means it doesn't take long at all to hail the man for another round of drinks. "For sure, though, there a /it/, yeah? You got /it/." Anette takes her drink, taking a much more managable sip of it. "Oh my god, where do you even get this ener-nevermind, I know the answer," she begins laughing as Ion begins bouncing like Tigger. "Well, there's no more business to step in, now there is?" she teases, adding a playful wink to the end. She's just begins taking another gulp before she's taken back by Ion's question. "'It'? What the hell is 'it'?" Ion gestures -- all around them, really. "Whole fucking world my amphetamines." Though there's a slightly twisted slant to his smile at this. When their next round of drinks comes he knocks his back in one very quick gulp. His hand waves towards Anette. Up, down, all of her in general. "Tch, you know. Like that, what's it. {Swag. /Flavor/. Fucking English --} Fff. His fingers snap. "Like some bit of alright, you know?" His eyebrows hitch upwards slightly before the addendum, "-- when you ain't 'bout to take off my head, any rate." Anette can't help but grin as Ion struggles to come up with the words, slowly savoring her drink instead of downing it as Ion does. "Some bit of alright? Yeah, I'm good, I guess. I've got some alright in my life now." The memory of being angry with him earns a soft sigh. "Hey now, that happened /once/. And I've no desire to ruin that pretty face of yours right now, for what it's worth." "S'worth a lot." Ion scoops his helmet up off the stool, hand drumming against the bar's surface again for a moment. "Hey come-come-come. I find this dope-ass club in Philly you in the mood for some dance, yeah?" He holds his hand out towards Anette. "If you ain't bother by the ride." "You sure you in condition to drive that thing?" Anette asks. Still, she chugs the rest of her drink, takes Ion's hand, and stands up, a little extra energy in her own step as she follows Ion out. "Philly? Bit of a ride isn't it?" Ion just grins, at this, only heading out to lock his helmet into his pannier. His hand closes tight around Anette's, the other one pressing up against a streetlamp. "Not the way I ride." It's the last thing he says before he -- and the bike, and the entire street around them -- all vanish, jolted out of existence into a sudden swirling dark that -- -- will /probably/ be Philadelphia on the other side. Hopefully. (Getting /back/ after several more drinks will be another adventure in Teleporting While Drunk. But that's a problem for Future Ion to worry about.)